


The Things We Do For Love

by BananaChef



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brienne of Tarth is the Best, Declarations Of Love, Denial, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Face-Sitting, Flirting, Fluff, I'm A Trash Can Not A Trash Can't, Injury Recovery, Introspection, Marriage of Convenience, Minor Character Death(s), Minor Character(s), POV Brienne of Tarth, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Secret Marriage, Sex, Soft Jaime Lannister, The Quiet Isle, Woman on Top, except that it's also a marriage of inconvenience, i can't see the logical passage of time from here, i hope i have done justice to the phrase "sexual experiencesssssssss", kind of?, me writing the smut in this fic: im not straight enough for this shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:22:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27579092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BananaChef/pseuds/BananaChef
Summary: She had not allowed herself to look at him all that much when they first reunited; she felt terrible for lying and he had looked so...happyto see her again. It would have hurt too much. But now she let herself look: she took in his well-kempt beard, streaked with silver; his golden mane of hair, which was beginning to become more silver than gold at the roots, though few reached past that; his perfect eyebrows which were so often arched in sarcasm or furrowed in anger, but were gentler before he woke; his skin, which was healthier than last she saw him, but now had new wrinkles around his eyes; and his lips, no longer starved for proper hydration, but healthy and slightly open.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 15
Kudos: 90





	The Things We Do For Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bellatrix_Wannabe_89](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellatrix_Wannabe_89/gifts).



> A huge thanks to [TeamGwenee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamGwenee) for mentioning the really common theory of Brienne and Jaime getting married on the Quiet Isle on JBO, because if they hadn't...well, idk, like 3/4 of this fic may not have existed.
> 
> And special thanks to Leslie for cheering me on, aka being disappointed every time I tweeted about this fic taking forever to write. ilysm uwu

“The noose or the sword, she says. Choose, she says.” Lady Stoneheart’s grip around Brienne’s throat tightened, but she did not feel a thing.

“I will not make that choice,” she heard herself say. _I cannot kill Jaime._ “Jaime is not the man he was, and I know he had nothing to do with the Red Wedding.” She knew it was fruitless, that she had told them all she had to say and it did not sway them, but she could not stand down. “Lady Catelyn, if you ever trusted me, ever loved me as a mother loves a child, please...do not do this.” She was crying then, but Stoneheart did nothing save pull Brienne closer.

“She’s lost all but two o’ her children, she says,” another man translated. “Mayhaps you was one o’ them for a time, she says, but you joined up with them lions.” He spit on the ground before her feet. “You got shit for honor, Kingslayer’s Whore. If you won’t kill ’im, we hang you, the Imp’s squire, and Tarly’s man. And then the Kingslayer.”

Brienne remembered Pod struggling as his noose took the life from him, and Hyle’s cursing, and Jaime’s face—the way he’d comforted her on the way to King’s Landing when she was mourning for Lady Catelyn. She looked into Lady Stoneheart’s eyes, and then down at her hands, which were gripping Oathkeeper’s hilt, the blade buried deep inside the undead woman.

“Brienne...” she whispered, blue eyes filled with one last bit of life.

“I’m sorry, my lady.” Brienne twisted the blade and Catelyn fell into her arms, pulling her to her knees just as Renly had all those years ago. “I’m sorry,” she said again, wrapping her arms around Catelyn’s corpse. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed.

* * *

Brienne sat up on her pallet, two people fluttering over her. The one on her left had been shaking her awake but withdrew when she sat up; the one on the right managed to grab a bucket and hold it up to her face as she leaned over and vomited into it. When she was done, she realized that the people were Podrick—who warily set the bucket on the ground—and Jaime—who was busy pinning up her hair. Brienne attempted to speak but her words got caught behind a blockade of vomit residue and a dehydrated throat.

“Water,” she rasped, her skin crawling, and Pod left to get some. Jaime put his hand on her shoulder and she leaned over the bucket, dry heaving; he immediately withdrew his touch.

Her squire came back shortly after, a skin of water in hand. Brienne gulped it down greedily and handed it back when she was done. The winter breeze coming in through her open tent flap felt good against her feverish skin, and she closed her eyes, relishing in the peace it brought her. She yawned, and then her head was against her pillow. Someone was brushing their fingers gently through her hair, taking it out of its updo to untangle it soothingly.

“Sleep, Brienne,” Jaime said. “I’ll be here when you wake.”

“Alright...” she mumbled, relishing in the peaceful sensation of his fingers running through her hair.

It was light out when she woke again, the winter sun high in the sky. Brienne turned over in her pallet, wondering if Jaime was still with her, and she found him lying on another one, snoring peacefully. She felt infinitely better than she had last night, though her stomach was in need of food. It growled loudly enough to wake Jaime up.

“Wha—? Is it morning?” he grumbled softly, rubbing the sleep from his face as his brows furrowed.

“I believe so,” Brienne whispered back, taking in the contours of his face.

She had not allowed herself to look at him all that much when they first reunited; she felt terrible for lying and he had looked so... _happy_ to see her again. It would have hurt too much. But now she let herself look: she took in his well-kempt beard, streaked with silver; his golden mane of hair, which was beginning to become more silver than gold at the roots, though few reached past that; his perfect eyebrows which were so often arched in sarcasm or furrowed in anger, but were gentler before he woke; his skin, which was healthier than last she saw him, but now had new wrinkles around his eyes; and his lips, no longer starved for proper hydration, but healthy and slightly open.

His cat-green eyes fluttered open and Jaime gave her a groggy smile. She wanted... “Did you get a good night’s rest, my lady?” Brienne nodded with a blush, trying not to move her face too much; she had miraculously found a position that did not aggravate her cheek.

“I’m no lady,” she told him, watching as he sat up and stretched, every inch a golden lion.

“Would you prefer I call you wench, as I did during the good old days?” he asked, lips quirking up in mirth. Brienne offered no answer but to blush further, which caused Jaime to grin. “That reminds me: when you’ve healed, we should spar. I’ve brought along blunted weapons to use, if you’d like. I’ve been practicing, although I’m sure you’ll beat me much faster than you did the last time we dueled.”

Brienne recalled their journey to King’s Landing from Harrenhal, and how he’d talked about fighting and fucking and how they were the two best things in the world. (“Fighting’s a lot like fucking,” Jaime had divulged in a bid to distract her from her grief over Lady Catelyn’s death. “Just as good, too,” he’d continued with a wry grin. She’d looked away with cheeks nearly as red as strawberries.)

“Would you like some food?” Jaime asked presently, as if he knew she was like to starve herself if he let her thoughts drift to Lady Catelyn. Brienne was not ready to pick up a sword again, although she knew that she could not afford to let her skill waste away.

“Yes, please. I would be grateful.” She sat up and pulled her blanket around her to fend off the cold, and Jaime crawled over to her to sit on the lower half of his legs.

“I should check your temperature—see if the fever’s broken.” Brienne nodded once before he leaned in close and pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead. He had done this many times over, yet she froze with her heart in her throat almost every time. The only time she hadn’t was during her first wave of sickness, when she was too delirious with sickness, pain, and grief to register much of what was going on. Her body had been traveling with Jaime, Podrick, and Ser Hyle, but her mind had been with Lady Stoneheart.

Jaime leaned back, a small smile on his lips. “No fever today, wench. Do you think you’re well enough to continue traveling?” Brienne’s newly-disappeared bout of sickness had lasted two days and three nights, during which he had commanded her to stay abed until she healed again. She knew his forces must have been wary of his unusual choices, but Jaime would not hear otherwise.

(“We could press on, Jaime,” Brienne had told him during her second round of sickness. He had been tending to her wounded cheek, as he always did, although she could only assume that he had started during the first time she was sick. “We would get there faster, and your forces wouldn’t be held up.”

 _There_ being the Quiet Isle, which Podrick had suggested Jaime take her to in order to recover in peace. He was a smart boy, and a good squire. _He did not deserve to die. Neither he nor Jaime deserved to die, and no matter my opinion of Ser Hyle, he did not deserve death either. I did what I had to do._ Even so, Brienne could not bear to look upon Oathkeeper.

Jaime had sighed and bandaged her cheek again. “I sent small groups to survey the land east of the God’s Eye and get news of what is happening in King’s Landing from Maidenpool and Duskendale. We have no need to go faster.” He had brushed some of her hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear, before gently pressing her onto her pallet. “Rest, wench. The burden of planning our travels is mine alone.” She had fallen asleep shortly after.)

“Wench? Are you well?” Jaime’s brows furrowed, and he turned to her, his tunic half-tucked into his trousers.

Brienne blushed. “I’m fine, Ser Jaime. Simply wanting for food.” He nodded and continued to dress as she watched him, biting her lip. “I...should dress,” she murmured, standing up on wobbly legs, sudden vertigo overtaking her.

“Woah, there,” Jaime cooed, stepping over to Brienne and wrapping his right arm around her waist. “Take it easy, there is no need to dress quite yet. I’ll bring the food to you. Take it slow, Brienne. That’s an order.”

“I do not serve the Lannisters,” she mumbled half-heartedly. He was correct, after all; she ought to take it slow. No one would benefit from her being dead from overworking herself.

“True, and fortunate. Still, there is no need to rush.” Jaime smiled a little, released her, and then fiddled with the buttons of his crimson jerkin with a golden lion sewn onto the left breast.

One-handed as he was, he kept on struggling until Brienne decided to intervene. “Oh, move over,” she chided softly, bringing her hands up to his chest. By the time she was done, her face was flushed red and Jaime was staring at her strangely. Brienne cleared her throat and took a step back. “Um. There, it’s...it’s done.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

“Brienne. My name is Brienne.”

“I’m well aware,” he told her, giving her that strange look again, where his eyes were slightly widened and he looked vulnerable. It faded in place of a more familiar look, and a smirk. “But you are a lady. My lady.” He took her right hand in his left and pressed a kiss to the back of it before promptly leaving the tent.

* * *

 _No. He does not love me. He cannot._ Those thoughts whirled around her mind all day, consuming her. _He will turn back once we arrive and go to his sister. He does not want me, he wants Cersei. He does not want me. He—he is being a friend and caring for me. He does not desire me. He does not love me. He does not love me._ She repeated that sentiment like a personal mantra until a familiar voice broke into her thoughts.

“Ser—m’lady? We’re to dismount and make camp here tonight,” Podrick said, looking up at her worriedly from the saddle of his piebald horse. Brienne didn’t recognize the area, but the sun was setting instead of rising. Had she been lost in her thoughts all day? “Ser Jaime said that the tent over there is yours.” The boy pointed to the bland, functional tent set up next to the rather ostentatious one made of expensive-looking crimson fabric trimmed in golden lace. Lannister banners were staked on either side of the entrance.

“You can room with me tonight, Pod,” Brienne told him, but that only served to make the squire look at her with even more worry before looking down at his horse’s mane, fidgeting.

“Ser Jaime assigned me to another tent, the one his squires share. I think Ser Jaime would prefer it if I stayed there. He said it was good for me to be around other squires. He—he told me that if you, um, ‘woke up,’ he said—I think he meant this?—he told me to send you to him. I think he’s in his tent. I can take care of the horses, m’lady ser. And set up your pallet. If it please you.” Podrick fiddled with the reigns of his horse, not quite meeting her eyes.

“As you say, Podrick.” Brienne dismounted, Pod following suit before taking the reins of both horses. “I trust that the...” she swallowed, fingers grazing over the mark the noose had left on her neck, “injury isn’t bothering you?”

“Not too much, m’lady,” her squire replied softly, sounding every bit his age. “If I may speak my mind,” he started, vulnerable, and she nodded, “it was very honorable what you did for Ser Jaime. I—um, I do not know him all too well, but I truly do not understand why the Brotherhood wanted him to die.” Podrick’s brows furrowed as Ser—his piebald horse—whinnied.

“Well, Pod,” Brienne started, and she reached for Oathkeeper’s hilt for comfort, but it wasn’t there. She heard herself finish responding to Pod, as if it were someone else speaking to him, as she recalled why she didn’t have Oathkeeper on her person.

That was the sword she used to kill Lady Catelyn. She couldn’t bear to look at it. She’d had enough presence of mind one night to sneak into Jaime’s tent, sword in hand, and lay it next to his sleeping figure, propriety be damned. _He had been so peaceful in rest._

Brienne had snuck back to her own tent and curled into herself under her blanket, attempting to find a position that didn’t aggravate her stomach, nor her healing cheek.

“Ser? M’lady? Are you alright?” Podrick was looking up at her with concern.

“Yes, Pod. I’m simply tired, is all.” Brienne mustered a smile.

* * *

That night she dreamed of something she hadn’t in years: Galladon’s death. It had looked to be a stormy day, and the maester (whose name Brienne could no longer remember) had advised her brother not to go swimming. Of course, he had disregarded the older man and made his way to the beach with Brienne in tow.

It had not been long before the waves became too wild for the boy of eight. The wind picked up and threw her hair into her face before she started screaming at Galladon to come back, _come back for me, please, don’t leave me!_ It was futile. The water swallowed her brother as she screamed, as hard as she had for Renly.

“Brienne!” Someone was shaking her shoulders. “Brienne, wake up, it’s a dream!”

She forced her eyes open and found Jaime’s green ones gazing back at her as she sucked in a breath. Brienne felt tears on her cheeks as he helped her sit up in a pallet, trying to breathe steadily to calm her nerves.

“Where am I?” she croaked out. _The spray of the ocean on my face felt so real..._

“In your tent,” Jaime answered softly, his right arm wrapped around her. His hand came up to her face and wiped away the tracks of her tears. “You’re safe here. I swear it.” His hand came to cup Brienne’s unmarred cheek, and she leaned into the contact. After a bit, he took a breath: “Who’s Galladon?”

Brienne looked away from him as tears sprang in her eyes again. “My brother,” she managed to get out before her throat constricted. Jaime pulled her in close as tears slipped down her cheeks again.

He held her in his arms and ran his fingers through her hair as she cried, whispering kind words. _I am safe here._ “I’m sorry for your loss,” Jaime intoned, but it only made her weep harder. _How can a man like Jaime care for a woman like me?_

Even though she could hardly believe it, he did. With Jaime’s arms wrapped around her, Brienne felt safe. She remembered wondering if he would comfort her should she weep on his shoulder. _I am no soft, helpless maid, and yet he holds me tight._

Jaime pressed a kiss to her forehead, his lips there and gone again, but Brienne froze, breath caught in her throat. “Brienne? Is something the matter?” He pulled away, grasping her hands with his own. She sniffled, eyes widened. Her gaze flitted from his eyes to his lips and back again before she looked away, cheeks coloring. “Brienne...”

He cupped her undamaged cheek with his left hand, angled her chin so she was looking at him, and kissed her. It was gentle, his lips barely pressing against hers when she gasped. Jaime pulled away and pressed his forehead against hers, trying and failing to hold her hands with his stump as his left cradled her head from behind. “Tell me if I’m wrong, Brienne. Tell me if I have overstepped my bounds. Tell me if you do not want me, and I will leave. Gods know I have nothing much to offer you, but I _care_ for you, my lady, in a way I did not think possible. Tell me if you want me to stay. Please.”

Jaime’s voice cracked at the last word, but Brienne hardly noticed due to the thoughts swirling around in her head. _You are not wrong,_ she thought, but the words refused to come. _You have not overstepped your bounds._ But was it truly her that he wanted? _I do want you, and I would not want you to leave even if I somehow did not._ He could not truly want her, he had simply been away from Cersei too long. _You have so much to offer me, don’t you know? And you care for me, even if this one night is the only time it will mean more than friendship._ She needed to turn him away to save herself, but Brienne had yearned for him for so many nights, and now he was here, offering himself to her. She could not bring herself to say no.

“Stay,” she whispered, voice raw.

So he did.

His lips touched hers again, firmer this time, as they started moving against her own. Jaime went slow, pulling away every so often to breathe before going back to her lips. Soon enough, Brienne found the confidence to mimic him, and he groaned, pressing himself against her as he laid her down on the pallet. _Chase away my nightmares, Ser Jaime._

Instead, Jaime pulled away, gazing at her in awe and reverence—that was it, those were the words to describe the look on his visage, where his eyes were wide and vulnerable as he gazed down at her. “I am yours, Brienne,” he murmured, wiping away what was left of her tears. _He has not used a title in conjunction with my name in so long...yet he is not mine. He can never be mine. But I will grant him the use of just my name for the rest of the night._ Brienne didn’t think she could bear the sound of it coming from his lips after daybreak. _He will surely regret this..._ “I would not dishonor you tonight, no matter how much I would like to.” Her cheeks flamed red, but she didn’t break their eye contact. “Tell me what you want and I swear to you, I will do my best to deliver.”

For a moment, it was as if time had stilled; then, meek as she had ever been, Brienne reached up to cup Jaime’s cheek. The texture of his skin and the whiskers of several moons against her hand were intoxicating, and for now, they were hers to touch and feel. She tentatively slid her hand to the back of his neck, hardly daring to breathe as she brought his face to hers. This time, Brienne initiated the kiss; she copied the movements from earlier, starting off slow, but soon it turned into a wanton thing full of gasps. Jaime’s thigh edged her legs apart as his tongue plundered her mouth, stealing her whine when his thigh rocked against where she had begun to throb.

Desperate to know the texture of his body, she fumbled for his tunic, hands trembling as she worked through his constant attacks to her mouth and nether regions. Soon enough, she was pushing the shirt across his shoulders and arms, and then he was groaning as her hands meandered down his chest, relishing in the dusting of hair there.

“Brienne,” Jaime grunted, fumbling with the laces of her own shirt, even as he pulled away to better see. She tried to push back a round of morbid giggles and succeeded, instead taking over for him and divesting herself of her trousers afterward.

Jaime wasted no time in leaving a blazing trail of kisses along her jaw and throat, laving at the scars the bear at Harrenhal had given her. Brienne tried and failed to stifle her moans of pleasure, but the sensations were too much, and once the first escaped her throat to be mirrored with one from Jaime, she stopped trying. He kissed his way down the scars, lingering at her clavicle before moving on to her breast.

 _“Oh!”_ Brienne gasped when his lips closed around a nipple, scraping his teeth around the stiff peak, eyes blown wide. _“Oh,”_ she gasped again, pressing her head back against the pallet as Jaime suckled. She ground against his thigh, seeking _something,_ but she didn’t know what; an end to this exquisite torture?

Jaime repeated his ministrations to her other nipple, and by then, Brienne felt on the verge of imploding with the force and ferocity of her pleasure. He tugged on her nipple with his teeth and she was _there,_ shouting his name for a split second before his lips captured hers, stealing the sound for himself.

When Brienne came back to herself, Jaime was lying next to her, brushing his fingers through her hair and working out tangles. She swallowed, pulling the collar of her tunic to cover her breasts, as well as the hem to hide her sex. Brienne cleared her throat. “Do you...?” She chanced a look at Jaime and found herself stuck in his gaze.

His eyes were smiling, his lips quirked up a bit, and Brienne blushed again. “Ah, no, my lady.” They glanced down at the same time to see his flaccid cock before back at each other. “It took care of itself.”

Try as she might, Brienne could not help but study his golden body and compare it to how he looked at Harrenhal’s baths. But before she could form a conclusion, her eyes fell shut, and she fell asleep to the gentle sound of Jaime’s breaths.

* * *

Brienne could not look at Jaime when she awoke, for fear that he would see her beside him and visibly regret the events of last night. Despite a ferocious ache in her head, she dressed and readied for the day’s travel, helping out as much as possible, even though her hands were shaking at points for all the stress she was under. Brienne stayed hidden from Jaime as much as possible, only seeing him when he rode through the camp and gave the order to head out.

She rode with Podrick once more, who informed her that they were only a few hours’ ride from the Quiet Isle. Brienne was thankful. Once they arrived, all this madness between her and Jaime could be forgotten, and he could continue on the road back to King’s Landing—back to his sister, the queen.

Brienne kept that thought in her head the whole ride, trying to ignore the pain in her head, but eventually, it became so terrible that she could no longer ignore its existence. She took a sharp breath at an additional stab of pain, a hand going to her temple.

“M’lady? What’s wrong?”

“Ah, nothing, Podrick.” Brienne winced, eyes falling shut as a spinning feeling took root in her head.

“With all due respect, m’lady, it doesn’t seem like nothing...” And then her view spun, and the world turned black...

“No, no, no, Brienne, please... We’ve almost arrived. Please, stay alive. Stay with me...”

She didn’t know how long she was unconscious, but she awoke to voices.

“Y-you’ll have to carry her, ser.” _Podrick._ The pain in Brienne’s head was still sharp, and it brought tears to her eyes.

“Alright.” She felt Jaime heft her up and instinctively wrapped her arms around his shoulders, letting her head fall onto his shoulder.

“Jaime...” Brienne whispered through the pain, “you aren’t strong enough...”

“I am. I’m strong enough, my lady. I’m strong enough...” Her world went black again.

“...married. Rules are rules. You cannot stay with Lady Brienne unless you are wed to her, Ser.”

“I refuse to leave her. I am staying by her side as she recovers whether it complies with your rules or not!” Brienne could hear someone pacing and breathing harshly.

Her face was mostly numb except for a minor ache in her injured cheek. And she was in a bed—Jaime had carried her across to the Quiet Isle, Brienne remembered.

“Jaime...” she whispered, voice like gravel.

She heard someone gasp and suddenly Jaime was beside her combing his fingers through her hair once more. Brienne forced her eyes open and blinked until she could see clearly; the bedroom was decently sized and lit from a fire opposite the bed.

“I’m here, Brienne. I will not leave your side until you are healed, I swear it.” Jaime’s voice broke at the end, and he pressed a gentle kiss to one of her large, freckled hands before holding it to his chest with his stump.

“You...you cannot stay. The rules...”

He huffed out a laugh. “What care do I have for rules? I have broken so many—what is one more?” His green eyes were glassy with unshed tears, and after a moment, his face darkened. “Unless you do not—”

Panic and fear seized Brienne at the thought of Jaime leaving her, and she inhaled sharply, gripping his stump. “I do. But the rules...”

The room was silent for a while except for the sound of the fire crackling in its hearth. “Marry me,” he asked.

“What?”

“Marry me. If the rules matter to you, then I will abide by them. Marry me, my lady, so I can stay by your side.”

There were so many ways she could answer his proposal swirling around in her head. _Yes! Yes, of course, I love you,_ or, _Jaime, you cannot truly want to do this to yourself,_ or, _Kingsguard members cannot marry, Jaime._ There were so many reasons to say no, but so many to say yes, as well. Instead of answering, Brienne found herself crying.

 _I am tired of being strong,_ she thought as Jaime embraced her, whispering soothing things to her. _Am I not allowed to have at least one moment of happiness?_ “Yes,” she said when Jaime finally pulled away to look into her eyes. _This is simply so he can stay by my side,_ Brienne reminded herself, but for the moment, she allowed herself to believe that it was for love.

* * *

They were married the following day, after the brothers of the Isle determined that Brienne was of sound mind to consent. Jaime sat in a chair next to her bed, his golden hair soft in the morning glow coming in through a window. In this light, he looked like the knights she dreamed of when she was a naive little girl at Evenfall Hall—the gentleman that would sweep her off her feet and carry her to their happily ever after. Of course, those dreams were all nonsense, as Septa Roelle had sharply pointed out.

In lieu of having House cloaks, the brothers tied Brienne and Jaime’s hands together with a length of ribbon. She took a deep breath and looked at Jaime, who smiled tremulously. “With this kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my lord and husband.”

He squeezed her hand, eyes shining. “With this kiss I pledge my love, and take you for my lady and wife.” For a moment, he was visibly torn between cupping Brienne’s cheek with his stump or just kissingher, but before he could decide, she leaned into the contact, eyes wet with tears. Jaime smiled brightly and kissed her, lingering for a few seconds.

“I now declare you man and wife. Brienne of House Tarth and Jaime of House Lannister, you are one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.” When the septon finished, Podrick clapped lightly from his seat by the fire, tugging Brienne out of her sparkling view of the situation. _He has married me to stay by my side, not because he loves me. Septa Roelle was right. I am incredibly stupid..._

When Jaime finally left to eat—and only at her insistence—Brienne allowed herself to roll over in bed and cry for all things she had come so close to having—for all the things she wished she could have that the gods saw fit to taunt her with. She would never have Jaime’s love, no matter how much she wished for it and no matter how much he unknowingly acted like it was possible.

* * *

True to his word, Jaime hardly left her side in the first seven days they stayed at the Quiet Isle. He ate at their table, worked by their fire, and slept in their bed. When he fell asleep, hair a golden crown around him, that was when Brienne shed more tears. She was married to the man she loved, who respected her perhaps more than any other in her life, yet he could not love her back. In a way, marrying Jaime was worse than being one of Renly’s Rainbow Guard members. Then, Renly did not spare Brienne a second glance, although he was just out of reach, but now...Jaime constantly fretted over her, and had taken to calling her sweetling—he was within reach, but untouchable; it was torture.

Brienne _wanted_ to believe that Jaime’s caring for her was him loving her, but if life had taught her anything, it was that, while in the songs it was always summer, all maidens were beautiful, and they all married handsome knights, the reality was quite different. An ugly, unintelligent woman like her would never win anyone’s romantic love nor be hailed as a great beauty or figure of the times.

Jaime knocked on the door as he always did before entering, something wrapped in crimson velvet tucked into the crook of his right arm. “I come with a gift, my lady...” he said softly. By now, Brienne was up and walking, and she’d taken several walks around the island with Jaime. She followed him over to the bed and sat next to him, nervous.

The crimson velvet reminded her of a conversation and gift from what felt like years ago. The thought of Oathkeeper always made Brienne melancholy; the Valyrian steel blade had become a part of her, and now it was gone, returned to Jaime. “What is it?” she pressed, voice a little shaky.

“Why don’t you take a look?” He turned to her and placed the item wrapped in velvet in her hands, and tears sprang into her eyes.

It was a sword. And, if her assumption was right, it was Oathkeeper. “Jaime...” Brienne whispered, moving the fabric aside to reveal the Valyrian steel sword, but the hilt and sheath were decorated with sapphires and suns and crescent moons. _Tarth symbols._ “But it’s _your_ sword,” Brienne protested. “You gave it to me to find Sansa because you weren’t able to. Jaime, you should not have altered the sword, it’s not _mine,_ it’s—”

He looked at her with such genuine earnestness that it stopped her words in her tracks, closed her right hand around the new hilt, and said, “It’s yours. It will always be yours.” He wouldn’t stop looking in her eyes, as if he were trying to immortalize them in his mind. He brought his stump up to her maimed cheek, trying to hold it as he would with his missing hand, and she leaned into the contact.

A tear ran down Jaime’s cheek, and he was the one crying as he told her, “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I should have gone with you, or changed the sheath and hilt before giving it to you. But I didn’t think. I just wanted you to be able to protect yourself with a beautiful sword and I wanted to spite my father.” He sobbed as she embraced him, holding him half so tightly as he held her. After a few moments, he spoke again: “It’s my fault that you had to kill Lady Catelyn, and I’m sorry that I failed you.” Jaime sniffed and pulled away, pressing his forehead against Brienne’s. “I know you do not hold it against me, but the guilt has weighed on me since that day. There is no way for me to right all the wrongs I have done, nor redeem myself in the eyes of the people, but it is not their opinions that I worry about. It is yours. I love you.”

“Jaime—”

“I would move the sun and moon and stars for you, sweetling. If you do not love me as I love you, I will not trouble you further, though it feels as though that would end me. I love you, my lady. Do you love me as I love you?”

Brienne did not answer straight away. She couldn’t—she had no words. Jaime Lannister, a golden god of a man, heir to Casterly Rock, brother to the queen, loved _her,_ Brienne, the ugly Maid of Tarth? It was preposterous. Yet it was true. _Good gods, Jaime Lannister is in love with me. And I’m in love with Jaime Lannister._

“Brienne?” Jaime pressed, taking her out of her thoughts.

“Yes.” It was surreal. Absolutely surreal! Brienne kissed him, a grin on her lips, and a matching one on Jaime’s. “I’ve loved you for so long...I never thought...”

“...that _I_ could love _you?_ By the gods, Brienne, you are a marvelous person—intelligent, and strong, and _good._ ” As he spoke, he cupped her other cheek with his hand, caressing her cheek with his thumb. “How could I _not_ love you? I only regret that I did not recognize my affection sooner.”

The couple looked down at the reformed Oathkeeper together for a moment, before Brienne set it at the foot of the bed. When she turned back to Jaime, she kissed him again, alive with the joy of knowing he loved her. While it started out gentle and innocent, it quickly became heated; he tugged at the strings of her shirt gently and she nodded, helping him divest her of her clothing item. Next to go was Jaime’s doublet, which Brienne unlaced and discarded, immediately pulling his tunic over his head. All the while, Jaime continuously attacked her lips, drawing out gasps and moans from his wife. (His wife!)

“Brienne,” he said, voice pitched low. His hand was at the ties of her breeches, his stump on her waist. “May I—?”

“ _Yes_ ,” she replied, and he wasted no time in removing Brienne’s last piece of clothing, followed by his own.

She let her hands linger on his chest, taking in the contours of his body as she hadn’t been able to that night in the Riverlands. She studiously avoided looking at his cock, instead leaning forward to taste the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

“Brienne,” Jaime groaned, threading his fingers into her hair after a moment to drag her lips back to his.

Her name on his lips sent tingles down her spine to her sex, where she throbbed in response. Jaime moved fully onto the bed, taking her with him, his lips never parting with her skin for more than a moment. Brienne followed him with her lips as he laid down, relishing in the way his hand trailed down her spine, glided over her arse, and onto the back of her thigh before gently guiding her leg over his waist.

“I cannot stop thinking of you above me,” Jaime admitted, voice hoarse.

Brienne shivered, the half-adoring, half-aroused expression on his face making her flush. “I’m too heavy, Jaime.” Her husband trailed his fingers over the skin of her inner thigh, causing her breath to hitch.

“You are not,” he stated, the green of his eyes mostly edged out by his pupils. “Do you remember when I carried you here? I told you: I’m strong enough. You will not hurt me. I promise.” Jaime’s stump on her hip as she lowered herself down to his abdomen grounded her, and she exhaled her remaining nerves. “This is about me and you. All right? I want you, and nothing you could do tonight would change that. You could suffocate me and I would give you my thanks from the afterlife for touching me.”

“Jaime!” Brienne admonished, but they were both grinning as they laughed. When their mirth died out, she looked at him fondly and reached out her hand to cup his cheek.

Jaime gazed up at her for a moment before turning his face to press a kiss to the palm of her hand. His hand and stump found her outer thighs. “Come up here,” he told Brienne, gently pressing against her thighs to move up the bed to his face. “I want to taste you.”

 _Oh..._ She couldn’t deny that the thought excited her, and she nearly obeyed. But then, “I wouldn’t want to...”

“Brienne,” Jaime sighed, fond yet exasperated. “Get out of your head. You are _not_ too heavy.”

She exhaled her nerves once more and moved up the bed so she was kneeling over Jaime’s mouth. He rubbed his thumb along the crease of her thigh as she lowered herself down to him. “Is this—?”

“Yes,” he answered against the skin of her thigh, pressing a kiss there when Brienne exhaled shakily. “You may want to hold onto the headboard.” She did as told, cheeks flaming red as she looked down at him. “I was not able to taste you that night. But rest assured—” Jaime swallowed audibly. “—I wanted to.” And then he spread her lower lips and put his mouth on her.

Brienne buried her face in her arm to stop herself from crying out, but a low moan in the back of her throat escaped when Jaime’s fingers probed her wetness. Whatever he said in response to the slickness she knew was there was lost, but the vibrations and movement of his lips against her sensitive skin made her breath hitch. Jaime licked a stripe from her entrance to her nub, sucking the hypersensitive part of her anatomy into his mouth and toying with it using his teeth and tongue; Brienne was suddenly glad he had warned her to hold the headboard of their bed as she gave a short, muffled cry against the flesh of her arm.

She found herself moving against Jaime’s face as he languorously licked and suckled at her before wrapping his maimed arm around her waist to support Brienne’s movements. She felt him insert one finger inside her and whined, breathing heavily. “Yes,” she panted, a sheen of sweat coating her body. “Yes, Jaime!” Her breath hitched again when he found a spot inside her that maximized her pleasure. He nipped at her bud with his teeth then, throwing her off the edge. Brienne shut her eyes tight as her orgasm wracked her body, perpetuated by Jaime continuing to lick at her.

When she regained vision, she moved back to sit on Jaime’s abdomen again, both of them breathing hard. “Was I...? I mean, did you... _enjoy_ it?” she asked, moving her hands to his chest as she looked down at her husband.

“I did—very much so,” he replied, his hand and stump moving to cover hers. He looked up at Brienne heatedly, as if he were thinking of all the ways he could ravish her next. Breathless with renewed desire, Brienne slipped her hands from Jaime’s embrace and braced them on his thighs. She slid herself backward until she was seated on his cock, which was rigid. Jaime groaned as she wriggled against him so his cock was nestled between her nether lips. “Brienne...” he managed, voice wrecked. “I love you. Very much.”

She gazed down at him for a moment, grasping for something eloquent to say, but failed. “I love you too, Jaime. Very much so.” Brienne rose up on her knees, grasped Jaime’s cock, and sank onto him. He made the noise of a dying man, or perhaps a man drinking fresh water for the first time in a day or two, and she wanted to hear it again. She sank down further, wincing at the internal tearing sensation of breaking her maidenhead, and sighed when she sheathed him to the hilt.

“So good,” Jaime exhaled, his hand gripping her hip. “Sweetling. So good.”

It did not quite feel good to Brienne; it felt more like Jaime’s cock was _almost_ scratching an itch deep inside her—except her arousal did not feel like an itch at all really. She started to move, raising herself up and down, which pleased both of them. Brienne settled into a rhythm, making love to Jaime with everything she had; she bent down and claimed his mouth, moaning when he adjusted his legs and started thrusting into her.

“Jaime,” she gasped into his mouth, close—so close now. He reached between them and pinched her nub, hurling her over the edge. Brienne vaguely felt Jaime finish inside her and shout her name, but it was a few moments until she was able to extract herself from him.

“Was I good?” he asked, mirroring her unfinished question from earlier with a smile on his face.

Brienne kissed him, heart overflowing with happiness. Could the gods truly be so good? “You were fantastic,” she told him. “Very handsome, too.”

“I am extremely glad you think so, my lady wife.” He brought her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “It wouldn’t do for you to have an inadequate husband, nor one who did not please your eye.” Brienne laughed at Jaime’s antics and curled into his warmth.

_Yes, the gods truly are this good._


End file.
